In The Dark After
by the Zoshi
Summary: Oneshot Homecoming night, Homecoming dance... but is it where you want to be? Implied StanxRedGoth


Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N: Because I love the fringe-flicking Goth kid. I do. And this popped into my head. Maybe there will be more oneshots like these someday. Maybe.

Enjoy. :3

And review, please. I will send you telepathic loooooove for reviews. :D

And, since this is a one shot, I'll reply to all the reviews I get. HONEST. SCOUT'S HONOR

And trying to talk about someone without using a name is pretty damn hard, people. argh...

RED GOTH IN THE CHARACTER PICKER HELL YEAH

***

Title: In The Dark After

Author: Zoshi the Confused  
Rating: PG-PG13

***

The lights around the football field were harsh, but out past the edges their illumination faded away into darkness. Stan wiped the sweat off of his forehead with one gloved hand, swinging his helmet with the other as he walked out past the bleachers. The other players, and the crowd that had been gathered at the field, were already headed towards the gym for the Homecoming dance, or already in it; he'd only stayed behind to ask his coach a few questions before heading out.

He blinked, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the field lights. The bleachers were to his right, and having turned the corner he was almost instantly cast into the deep black behind them. Sighing, and hoping he wouldn't run into anything, he headed towards the distant lights of the gym, wondering why the hell anyone would put the field so far away from the school buildings.

A speck of light flared up not far in front of him suddenly, lingering for a second before flickering away and leaving behind only a tiny dot of glowing orange in the surrounding darkness. Stan sped up a little, wondering who it was, and hoping to catch them before they'd moved on. Maybe it was Kenny, he hung around the bleachers after games sometimes; it was the one of the few times when he could get away from both Kyle and Wendy's long-winded speeches about the dangers of teenage smoking.

Nearing the glimmer of orange light, Stan began to think that maybe he was wrong in thinking that it could be Kenny. The shadow behind the orange dot was a bit too dark to be him; it didn't have the same feel as his blonde friend. It had an entirely different look to it.

For a moment his steps faltered; he thought he knew who it was behind that cigarette, now that he was close enough to smell the clove in the smoke, and part of him wanted to throw away all pretense and restraint and run up to the shadowed smoker. A larger part of him, thankfully, was a bit more reserved and in control. Still, the smile came easily to his face as he neared; one thing he couldn't hide.

"What are you doing back here?" He asked good-naturedly, slowing down, preparing to stop, but the shadow peeled itself away from the bleacher support and started walking in step with him.

"Homecoming game. School spirit and all that conformist crap." A puff of smoke wafted past him, and although he wouldn't be caught dead smoking himself he relished the scent of it on the air.

"I didn't know you had it in you," Stan said, walking along easily, not too hurried. They were nearing the edge of the bleachers, and a small pool of light from the field illuminated the ground before them.

"I don't." A flick of crimson and black streaked hair and a drag on the cigarette before the other person continued. "My social science teacher's giving me extra credit for being here."

Stan snorted, and the shadow turned towards him, dark eyes burning into his.

"Not all of us can get into college on a sports scholarship, jockboy," came the retort, along with a puff of smoke straight into his face just as he was inhaling. Stan found himself a bit too busy coughing to reply, and by the time he caught his breath they were walking into the next length of darkness behind the second stand of bleachers. For a moment they walked in silence, Stan avoiding looking at the figure walking next to him.

"You going to the dance?" Stan asked finally, attempting nonchalance, but not managing to keep himself from looking over at him from the corner of his eye.

"Go to a dance full of Abercrombie and Fitch wearing jocks and cheerleader wannabes dancing to mindless pop music? Please." The smoker had turned to a shadow once more in the darkness behind the bleachers, only the glow of the cigarette marking his presence.

Stan tried not to sigh, looked ahead towards the brightly lit gym instead. Even from this far away he could hear faint strains of pop music carried on the light breeze.

"So where are you headed? Home?" He asked, not looking over this time.

"No. Henrietta wants to fight the overly bright and pop-y disease in the gym with a goth gathering at the cemetery," The shadow stopped at the edge of the bleachers, his cigarette having burned dangerously close to his lips. He pulled out a new one, and Stan watched as, in one fluid motion, he placed it between his lips and removed the old one, tossing it down to the ground and crushing it out while lighting up the new cigarette with the lighter in his other hand.

"Can I come?"

Those dark eyes turned to him again, this time in surprise. The critical look he received next made him feel more self-conscious than he thought he could feel, and he fidgeted slightly.

"You want to come?" The tone was as incredulous as the gaze. Stan looked down at himself, still in his football gear, helmet in hand.

"Yeah, well… guess I'm not dressed for it." He said, looking back at the other figure. The dark eyes seemed to glow with the light from the cigarette; he couldn't look away.

"Tch." The shadow turned, started off again. "Don't you and your girlfriend have crowns to get tonight?"

"Yeah… supposedly," Stan said wistfully. He couldn't look at the gym, found himself looking at nothing but the dark-clothed figure a few steps ahead of him. So close in front of him, but not close at all. The orange glow of the cigarette hidden, the shadow melted into the darkness ahead of him as he felt himself slowing down, leaving him with one parting word,

"Conformist."

Stopping, his eyes focused on the darkness before him, he found himself unable to see, the shadow, or anything else, and still he found himself replying softly,

"Yeah…"


End file.
